


Friends don’t know the way you taste

by MFLuder



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Feelings, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hispanic Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, but Roy is gonna force Jason to accept he's worthy of love, jason's feels will give you whiplash but so would mine, so does Roy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: “You are a stoic asshole with the tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. I like that. You listen to my mouth that can’t stop, and you don’t care; you don’t get bored or annoyed, and sometimes, you even like my plans. That’s a first for me. You don’t lecture me about anger management.“So, I’m going to say this once. Turn off that giant brain, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and listen to me when I sayI like you.”
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 30
Kudos: 329





	Friends don’t know the way you taste

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly a PWP with a serving of abandonment issues and self-loathing thrown in.

They’re crashing in a safehouse on the outskirts of Gotham, near where they just took down a small cartel trying to move into the city from Colombia. It’s small, a little dingy, not particularly well-stocked, but it has a med kit for the gash on Roy’s arm. Plus, a laptop, a TV, and plenty of liquor.

There’s a couch and one overstuffed chair that’s definitely seen better days and likely grabbed from college spring cleaning week, and that’s where Jason is sitting. He’s taken off the armor already, something he does the instant he knows he’s in a secure space, so he’s just wearing a black tee and gray sweats. From here he can see the door to the single bedroom, a full-size bed and a nightstand. He can also see the kitchen that’s straight from the 1990’s, white particle board and wood cabinets, laminate counters. Red solo cups and a couple of bottles – one is tequila, another is whisky, dark and pure – decorate the countertops. 

But mostly, he sees Roy, pouring another quarter cup of tequila and mixing it with coke and ice watering it down significantly, then another cup of two fingers worth of whiskey, straight. He sees the look of concentration on Roy’s face, the way he’s biting his lip. He’s recently trimmed his hair again, so it barely sticks out from under his cap, only the – thankfully no longer mutton chops – sideburns and the lank ends from the sweat of the mission indicating his hair color.

Not for the first time, Jason thinks about the influence he has on Roy, how he’s started drinking again since they formed the Outlaws and if maybe he should stop himself, stop Roy. But the one time he tried to bring it up, Roy had shushed him with a dark look worthy of a Bat before flashing his white teeth in a cheerful grin and giving Jason a noogie like they’re both twelve.

He keeps an eye on it, though. His eyes are constantly peeled for new track marks in the skin he can see, for a glassiness to the green eyes, to any delay in reflexes that might suggest Roy’s using again. Addiction is addiction and it doesn’t matter if its alcohol or H.

So far though, he hasn’t seen anything. Nothing beyond Roy watering down his alcohol to the point that Jason wonders how he can consume it. But he’ll never let on that he notices, and he always lets Roy make the drinks.

He takes the whiskey from Roy with a tired smile and a lift of the cup in salute. He’s already come down from the adrenaline rush, weariness seeping through his merely twenty-two-year-old bones – twenty-three if one were to count the year he was dead, but who does. Roy, though, Roy holds his high as long as he can, buzzing with the fight, with liquor, with the music he’s streaming, coming out somewhat tinny through an older set of Bluetooth speakers that sit next to the laptop.

It’s trashy pop music, top hits or something and really, the man has a tattoo that reads poison and wears red and occasionally walks around with his hair in a low bun, but he listens to Taylor Swift like he’s a fifteen-year-old girl.

It hurts Jason’s ears, but it makes him smile.

“Why is it I drink tequila, Jay? Shouldn’t that be, like, your drink?” Roy is sitting on the couch now, legs spread out, melted into the fabric that is neither gray nor brown, eyes closed. His hat, backwards as always, is popped off his head a bit from the cushion. It pushes it down over his face, a faint shadow almost hiding his expression.

“That’s a microaggression,” he responds, hiding his smile behind the cup lip. It’s not a new conversation. Roy does it to heckle him, rather than from ill intent. “Besides, I grew up in a manor filled with scotch and bourbon. Still can’t get into the taste.”

“Mmm. I remember those days. Breaking into Bruce’s cabinet with Dick, drinking ourselves sick on fifty-year-old scotch.” He turns his head to Jason with a grin. “Maybe that’s why I can’t stand the stuff anymore.”

Jason feels his expression darken, tries to fix it neutral again. Just because his relationship with Goldie is complicated, doesn’t mean that he can take away Roy’s memories and he’d never stop his friend from talking about another friend. It’s not like he can avoid talk of the other Bats, anyway. Not in the cape and vigilante circles, that’s for sure.

“Jaybird,” Roy sighs, looking like he might say something more, when the song switches. “Oh, I love this song!”

Jason wonders how he even recognizes it, all he hears is the sounds of a city – and not the one outside the window they keep locked tight from the mid-August Gotham heat, as well as inquisitive Bat or Arrow listening devices. But Roy is already up, moving to boost the volume by the time the beat starts.

He knocks back a gulp of his tequila and coke, and when the music starts, something that has a Latin guitar hint to it, his hips begin to move.

Jason’s eyebrows creep up. This is new. Roy’s never danced around him unless they were at a club and then it was normally awkward white boy dancing, arms flailing wildly, jumping up and down to the beat. One occasion he’s seen him dance with Kori and Jason supposes his hips were moving decently, but it had been less dancing and definitely more grinding. The image of it stands out clear in his mind: the paleness of Roy’s hand clutching Kori’s dark skin, pulling her hips back into his, the way their red hair seemed to tangle and come alive – Roy’s had been long at the time – the way Kori had leaned back and let herself be pulled into the cradle of Roy’s body, the way his forearms had flexed, tendons pulsing. When Kori had turned her head into Roy’s, seeking a kiss, and Roy’s hand had gone from gripping her hip to skirting the edge of her denim shorts and then _dipped in_ – that’s when Jason had stepped away, gone back to the bar, and proceeded to get himself drunk on shitty Jameson until long after his partners had left the bar.

That place used to be his favorite cantina; he hasn’t gone back since. He tries not to think about Kori flying Roy there in downtimes.

Jesus, he thinks to himself. Much as he doesn’t like to admit it, he does take after Bruce – none of the rest of the Bats get morose when drinking except Jason and dear old dad.

He shakes himself out of his memories to find that Roy has really started to move now, dancing to a man’s voice. Then Roy’s voice chimes in and that’s startling. He’s not a good singer, but the open glee he’s expressing, hearing a song he likes, has Jason giving a happy sigh. He takes another sip of whiskey, this time longer because Roy’s heard his sound and has turned to him, green eyes open and staring into him.

His eyebrows waggle when he mouths ‘tequila sunrise’ along with the male singer and Jason laughs, straight up. Roy is giddy with something – the fight, the alcohol, the win, who knows – and it’s brought out a rare sight, one that Jason knows is usually for the former Teen Titans, for Dick and Kori and Donna. But it feels like it’s for him in this moment as Roy moves closer.

He still dances like a white boy, but he took off his armor too and only left on the red muscle tank beneath and a pair of cargos that don’t stay up the same way without a belt. His dance moves cause the shirt to ride up and the pants to fall, flashing Jason a glimpse of muscled abs and a hipbone. He and Roy are the same width in the shoulders, but where Jason grew into a tree trunk from shoulders down, with hips and thighs to match – he’s the closest Bat to Bruce’s size and muscle mass – Roy’s body tapers down to his hips. He’s not small, definitely not twink-sized, but he doesn’t have the bulk of his mentor or Jason and his abs are more suited to an Abercrombie model than a man who can take down three men bigger than him with nothing but his bow as a bludgeon.

Jason closes his eyes and takes another sip. If Roy is going to keep getting closer and keep dancing, certain parts of Jason are going to try to rise and meet him. And Jason doesn’t go after men who aren’t interested in him or men in relationships. Ideally, he wouldn’t go after men who would be sloppy seconds from his brother. Every Bat kid has had fantasies about Batman – straight, gay, lesbian, whatever – but Jason really isn’t into the incest thing even if it is only pseudo-incest and even if he doesn’t feel so much like a son or a brother to the other Bats ninety percent of the time, anyway.

But then Roy’s there, in his space, arms clutching the padded arms of the recliner, practically in his lap and while he might have taken off his armor, his left the black bands on his biceps and _fuck_ do they highlight his pale skin and tattoos and the way that his muscles flex as he lowers himself to just a few inches above Jason’s crotch. In one of his hands, long and nimble, suited more to a piano but with the calluses of an archer, he still clutches his drink, but Jason can see it’s mostly gone from here, can smell the alcohol on both their breaths now.

“Roy,” he breathes, his body fighting for control with his mind. If Roy gets any closer now, he’s definitely going to know his hip gyrations are having an effect. But Jason can’t move, can’t escape the gentle cage Roy has him locked in, not without giving himself away or being rude. He’s in no mood to be rude. He doesn’t want to be discovered – to fuck up this friendship, this partnership. Not with his dick.

“Jay,” Roy responds, in a way that strikes Jason as almost coy. Like he knows what Jason is thinking. He makes sure his face is blank.

“What are you,” he swallows. “What are you doing?”

“Dancin’. It’s a good song. You want to dance with me?”

“Not particularly,” Jason states. The image of Roy’s hand down Kori’s shorts hits him, and he sucks in a breath. “¿Por qué estás haciendo esto?”

Roy’s eyes flutter shut and his teeth bite into his lip again, just like they did in the kitchen.

“Jay, you’re not helping.”

“Helping what?” he asks, honestly confused. Roy’s hips have stopped moving and his hands seem to be gripping the chair arms harder, holding his body in place; he’s simply leaning over Jason now, hips tilted away from him.

Roy opens his eyes and they are a clear green, reminiscent of sea glass. His stare burrows into Jason’s soul. Or the one he pretends he has. “Will you kiss me?”

Jason coughs, and then finishes the last of his whiskey to cover his surprise. He lowers the cup down. “Roy. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not and you know that, Jaybird.”

“¿Harías lo mismo sí serías sobrio?” 

Roy sighs and the death grip he has on the chair loosens. “I don’t know what that means, but I suspect I get it.” He seems to consider, and Jason can’t lie to himself – Roy isn’t drunk. He’s seen Roy drunk and this isn’t it. He wonders if _he’s_ drunk, for this to be happening. Maybe he’s been hit by some kind of powder. Maybe a bullet hit one of the packets during the bust and he’s tripping balls right now.

Roy’s grin turns calculating, devious. He smiles and Jason quivers. “You know, Dick was never this hard to get into bed.”

At that, Jason can’t help but snort. “Yeah, well, Dick’s easy. Goldie loves a little ‘d’.”

Roy throws his head back and laughs. Jason drinks in the sight, traces freckles with his eyes and clutches his plastic cup harder when his fingers want to follow his gaze. The music has changed, something now even more popish in nature, but when Roy looks back down at him, a small smile on his face, gentle, Jason’s sucked back into the moment, feeling that music that had Roy’s hips swaying, moving to a beat like the music at the cantina on the island six months ago.

“You know I’ve been flirting with you for several months now, right?”

Jason blinks. 

“You didn’t.” One of Roy’s hands comes up to his face, rubbing it while he lets out a small laugh. “Jesus, you didn’t. God, Ollie would _kill_ me if he knew I was this off my game.”

He steps back, crossing his arms. The pose is more removed, but the way his muscles bulge does nothing to quench the thirst Jason is feeling, even as his world is tilting sideways.

“Jaybird, _señor_ , I’ve been trying to get into your pants since I met you. I’ve been trying to get into your _bed_ for the last several months.”

Jason licks his lips, cracks, “Kori…”

“Kori is _hot_. I’ve seen how you look at her. I’ve seen Stephanie look at her, Donna, hell, everyone but Ollie who only has eyes for Dinah. Even then, I bet you could ask, and he’d agree she’s hot. She and Dick, and she and I…” he shrugs. “It was a thing. A weird, fucked up thing. There was a lot of drugs back then, on my part. But I think you know I respect her, as a friend, as a teammate. Yeah, we have sex, but we’re not dating.

“You know she and Dick still have their thing. And I don’t do things with Dick anymore. Not since I met his way, way hotter brother.”

Jason flushes.

Roy considers him. “Alright. I get it. You’re a man of few words. Unless you’re making one of those Machiavellian speeches or arguing with the Bats. So, let me lay it out.”

He begins to tick off his sentences on his fingers.

“One, you’re hot. Two, I’ve wanted your lips on mine since like, week two of this partnership we have. Three, I’m not dating anyone; three ‘a’, you’re not a replacement for Dick. Four, you’ve saved my life countless times in the last year. Five, I could listen to you speak Spanish to me all day long. Six, you don’t insult my weird taste in food, how I like everything drenched in ranch, even your precious and sacred tamales – yeah, I’ve seen your horrified looks – you also treat my addiction with the seriousness it requires but you don’t push. Seven,” he pauses, shoves his hat back and off, grasping it in one hand while the other runs through his hair roughly, spiking it up. “Well, seven, I just like you, Jaybird. We’ve both been through some shit and I don’t think anyone gets me like you. We’re different, but I think we match.” He shrugs, speech done.

Jason stares at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

Roy Harper, who rarely, _if ever_ , looks phased, is currently is shrinking into himself, suddenly unsure. “You could say you like me, too, man.”

“Dios mio,” he whispers and sets down his cup on the ground. It’s empty, anyway. “Ven aca, come here,” he repeats in a forceful hushed tone, staring right back at Roy.

Roy walks back to him and Jason pulls him down, using his stable position to upset his partner’s until the other man is actually straddling his lap, using his hands for leverage on the chair arms once more. 

Jason growls, pushing his half-hard cock up against Roy. “Yes, god, I want you, Harper. When you and Kori, at that cantina, why do you think I didn’t go back to the room? I _wanted_ too much.”

“I saw you staring, you know. So did she. She wanted to invite you back. But you disappeared before we could find you.” His hand finds Jason’s hair, tugging and pulling at the white strands, his grip tight. “If I’d known, I’d have asked from the start. But I didn’t…I didn’t want you to think I was some fuck boy, something that Dick discarded and I just—”

Jason looks at Roy fondly and cuts him off. “Roy, you _are_ a fuck boy. It’s Boy Wonder’s loss, though. But…”

He trails off, loosens his hands from where they were gripping Roy tight, pressing them together, his body controlling his actions, something he hates. Hates more since the Pit.

“Tú eres mi mejor amigo. I don’t want to fuck this up.” He gives into the impulse to bring one hand up and cup Roy’s cheek, to move his thumb down to his mouth. Roy’s tongue flickers out, tasting it briefly. “I don’t think I can fuck around with you. I can’t be just another Bat. Nunca.”

“I promise,” Roy says leaning in closer, eyes flicking between Jason’s eyes and his lips. It seems to take an eternity, but finally, his parted lips press down on Jason’s and he finds himself surging up into the kiss, taking it from chaste to wet and divine in an instant. There’s no hesitancy in this like there has been in their words, in apparently both their interactions for some time. It’s heat and strong wills, and a fight for dominance that neither wins but neither loses until Roy pulls back, eyes closed while Jason takes him in, the faint flush to his cheeks, the way his chest heaves, his breath coming faster than when they’re in battle, the wet sheen to his lower lip that Jason put there. After a deep breath, he continues.

“I promise, if the sex is good, I’ll stick around as long as you want me.”

His eyes open, playful but something deeper in his tone and in the way his hand continues to clutch Jason’s hair.

Jason lets out a short laugh and stands, dumping his friend’s ass on the floor. It earns him an “oof!” and a put-upon pout before he reaches out a hand to help Roy up.

“I suppose I deserved that,” Roy remarks, slyly, even as he rubs at his tailbone.

“You did,” Jason smirks.

“One more drink?” Roy asks. “I feel like I need one after that verbal vomit.“

He moves back to the kitchen and if his hips are swaying a little to whatever song is currently playing, well Jason just takes it in without a word. Then, as Roy is pouring another inch of tequila and half a can of coke into his cup and a shot of whiskey into a new one for Jason, he leans in, and places his arms around Roy’s body, caging him from behind, similar to Roy’s earlier move.

“You can pour me more than that. You’re not getting this tonight, anyway,” he says, rolling his hips into Roy, letting his dick rub against Roy’s ass. “I’m not fácil like my brother.”

He smirks and bites into the flesh where Roy’s tank meets his shoulder, rolling the skin between his teeth. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark, but it is a promise of one.

Roy turns around, still in the pen of Jason’s arms. He tips up the cup of whiskey for Jason to drink. It’s awkward, but also kind of hot. When Jason finally brings one arm up to lower the cup, Roy’s eyes are hooded, watching him.

“I like a challenge,” he states and calmly takes a drink from his own cup, a cocky tilt to his chin.

Once more, Jason is unable to control the growl in his throat.

“But,” Roy states, once he’s brought his drink away from his mouth, “the only dick I want to talk about again tonight is this one.”

With that statement, he reaches one hand out, cupping Jason’s hard-on through his sweat pants. He’s been tenting them for the last few minutes and he sighs with something like relief that he didn’t know he needed when Roy puts pressure on it, his palm warm, big.

He downs the rest of the whiskey and when he’s done, Roy takes it from him and sets both cups on the counter. He reaches out towards Jason, gently laying his hands on his face, bringing him in.

“Jay, Jay,” he says in a soothing tone of voice. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours? You’re tenser than I’ve seen you outside a room with Batman in it.”

His eyes are warm, but worried, all trace of heat and teasing gone. His brow is furrowed.

Jason doesn’t move, lets his face rest in Roy’s hands, lets Roy’s eyes take him in, questioning, while he keeps his stance around the other man. He is tense, he realizes, and there’s a knot of apprehension right alongside the low flame of desire, mixing in his gut and leeching out from there. He presses the heels of his palms into the counter, trying to find words. They’re harder to come by, since.

All his confidence is gone. All his swagger, his joke that he’s not his brother, not Dick. If anything, _he’s_ the sloppy seconds, the replacement, the guy who got so fucked up in the head he can’t even express himself when he wants to.

He huffs out a scornful snort, about to pull away, to distance himself from everything – from his feelings, their conversation, to go back to friends and nothing else. Blame it on the alcohol and who cares if it’s a lie? He’s a Bat; deceiving is part of the gig.

Roy’s hands, always so quick, catch his as he tries to step back, muscles flexing as he holds onto to Jason. He’s not using his full strength; Jason wants to be caught.

“Look at me,” Roy says. 

When Jason does, he sees an earnestness he’s not familiar with. He’s not used to anyone looking at him like that. Except, maybe, he thinks he’s seen the look once or twice before from Roy, and he simply didn’t know what to call it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you, if you don’t want this, me, anything, tonight, ever, it’s fine. We’re still partners. Don’t shut me out.”

“Ah, dio,” Jason grits out, struggling to keep his body’s responses in check, to not lash out at his friend. He half wants to punch him, half wants to throw him down on the kitchen floor and give him everything, let Roy take anything from him, slutiness be damned. “You’re _all_ I want.”

“Then _touch me_ , Jaybird,” Roy groans, moving one of Jason’s hands up and placing it against his stomach, pressing it down so that Jason can feel the flinch of his muscles, the jerk his hips make towards Jason when they connect, his head tilting back leaving that pale exposure of unmarked skin for Jason to gaze on.

He stumbles forward, capturing a spot on Roy’s neck with his lips, forcing them both back into the counter. He uses his greater width to physically manhandle the other man up and onto the counter, making it easier for him to move from neck to mouth and back down again.

“God, yes, fuck,” Roy is saying, somewhere above him, a whine in the back of his throat that Jason can feel with his lips. “Mark me, make me yours.”

It’s his turn to whine, to have his breath catch. He reaches up and tugs at Roy’s short locks, fingers slipping through the fine hairs. He likes the look, but maybe he can convince Roy on a happy medium between the man bun and this crew cut that won’t allow him proper purchase.

Roy’s mouth is open, panting, when Jason brings his head down and he bites hard at the other man’s lips, acting mean before soothing them with a swipe of his tongue. Then he seals their lips together and he thinks he might combust as they kiss.

Roy gives as good as Jason does, pushing back, letting their tongues tangle in a hot slippery mess. Their teeth clash and its downright animalistic when Roy growls, clenching his hands at Jason’s shoulders, fingers digging into the meat of them. He knows there will be halfmoon marks left tomorrow. A small reminder of whatever this is.

Roy pulls back, panting and slides down the counter, muttering an “ouch” as his tailbone smacks the counter on his way down, but not even pausing as he begins to push Jason backwards and toward the bedroom, his hands grabbing at his shirt, even as his lips continue to devour Jason’s, parting only long enough for the apparently offensive fabric of Jason’s black shirt to slip past them.

Jason’s decided to give into whatever this delusional fantasy is. If Roy is drunker than he appears, they’ll deal with it tomorrow. If he’s high af right now, well, then he’ll deal with coming down tomorrow, too. And if it’s real, if Roy means it when he says he’s been flirting, that Roy – gorgeous, cocky, a man that even Goldie found worthy – could want Jason’s broken self, well...

They stumble back to the bed and Jason’s feet go out from under him when Roy pushes him down. At this level, Jason can see the man’s desire, a hard line through those cargo pants that have slipped enough to show the deep vee of his abs and the very base of his cock, a small trail of copper hairs marking the way. He looks up to see Roy running his hands through his hair, gazing down at him with hooded eyes and biting his lip hard.

He reaches out, running his blunt fingers along the line of Roy’s pants, barely daring to touch skin but a shiver goes down his spine when he does, the skin as soft as it looks. It seems archery has an advantage; it’s not that Roy is unscarred, but here, his skin remains unmarked, smooth, pristine as it is pale. This part of Roy’s body has neither seen sun recently, nor villain apparently.

He bites back the bitter thought that Dick saw this skin first.

He presses his lips right on Roy’s hipbone, tasting the salty hint of sweat, feeling the sharp bone underneath thin skin with tongue and teeth until he leaves a red mark that has Roy gasping and running his hand through Jason’s hair instead of his own.

Jason pulls back, admiring the mark, smirking a bit. He presses his thumb into it, enjoying the second gasp that slips from Roy’s red lips. He starts to slide his fingers into the pants to pull them down, giving him access to Roy’s cock, to give him head, but Roy’s hands stop him.

“Jay,” he murmurs. 

Jason looks up at him, curious, confused.

Roy’s smile is significantly more gentle than usual. He pulls off his shirt, arms crossing over his chest, then falling and pressing his pecs together. It’s by no means the first time Jason has seen him shirtless, but it’s the first time he feels like he’s allowed to look, and he allows his hands to rest, thumbs rubbing circles into Roy’s hips because some part of him needs to move. He takes in the flex of powerful muscles, the hint of short trimmed red hair that lies in the middle of his chest, the power that lies in the movements as Roy takes of his armbands, tossing them to the side. The dressing covering the knife slash stays smooth on his forearm.

Jason’s about to follow through on his previous intention when Roy’s hands stop him once more.

“Let me, Jay,” he says and pushes Jason back. Jason lands on his elbows, face no doubt expressing his incredulity that the other man is turning down a blow job.

Roy seems to get it and, as he drops to his knees, tugging down Jason’s sweats, pulling them under his ass, and then down and off his ass, fingers grazing through his leg hair in such a way that he shivers and his cock twitches where it now stands tall in the air, he says, “I’m not turning you down, Jay. God, if you knew half the dirty thoughts I’ve had about your mouth—”

Jason smirks. It’s always his mouth.

“—It’s that you still seem to think I am indulging you. I want you to know _how much_ I want you. Also, you said I wouldn’t get your cock in my ass tonight, so I’m going to demand it in my mouth, at least.”

“ _Mierda_ ,” Jason heaves, his head falling back as Roy’s hands play him like a violin, writing invisible things into the skin of his thighs and pelvis, words leaving him breathless.

When Roy’s teeth graze his thigh, his breath hot and damp, Jason lets out a thick groan and lets his elbows slide back further on the soft comforter, giving in to whatever Roy wants to do. The sight of his red hair between his legs is a vision Jason dreamed of in his best wank material but never expected. It’s as good as the thought of watching Roy go down on Kori – or hell, Dick, even. But it’s _him_ , and it’s somehow real and Jason’s hips thrust towards his mouth with its upturned corners.

After a few more minutes of Roy ignoring his cock in favor of harsh kisses and wet licks to the inside of his thighs, he pulls his heavy head back up so he can look at Roy and grunts, “Any time now, Harper.”

Roy’s green eyes tilt towards him and a leer flashes over his face as he fondles Jason’s balls, making his knees threaten to close around him. Roy shoulders in more, forcing Jason’s legs apart with his beefy arms. “I’m gonna take you apart. One day, I’ll put a ring on you and blow you for _hours_.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jason hisses. One of his arms lash out and he grabs the back of Roy’s head, squeezing the tendons in the back of his neck. Not painful, just solid pressure. “Suck it,” he demands.

Roy does then. He drops his head, though his eyes still burn into Jason’s own, and his tongue flicks out like he’s about to eat an ice cream cone and leaves a wet strip on Jason’s shaft. Jason licks his lips in response.

“Fuck, _Jay_ ,” Roy says and then he drops his eyes, too, and takes Jason entirely into his mouth.

Jason’s hips thrust upwards without him meaning to and Roy’s hands tighten on his hips, forcing him back down, long fingers digging in enough that Jason hopes there will be bruises tomorrow. The heat of his mouth is blistering and so, so wet.

He gives into it, unable to tear his eyes away from the bobbing of Roy’s red head. His lashes are light and barely visible in the darkness of the room, but they still occasionally collect the light from the moon shining through the cheap slats of the blinds. The light also serves to highlight the wetness of his lips, how, as he dips down further, spit slips from his tight suction and he has to wipe it with his hand before it returns to clutching Jason’s thigh. In between, Roy fondles his balls, rolling them together, pushing them up against his cock, other times he uses it to stroke Jason, bringing his hand up to meet his mouth.

The visual is stunning enough, but the sounds are what drives Jason closer to orgasm, a tight squeeze and tingly feeling that starts in the base of his spine. He’s never been great at controlling his own mouth and moans and gasps are falling out rapidly, mixing with the slick sounds of Roy’s hand, of the way he sucks in extra spit as he tries not to make it sloppy.

Not that Jason wouldn’t enjoy sloppy; fuck, he actually loves a sloppy blowjob, where there’s spit that falls down behind his balls and spit that sticks from his cock to his partner’s lips. He loves watching his own come spill from a mouth more than he likes the feel of someone swallowing. He wants to tell Roy, to encourage the spit he’s trying to keep back, but he’s almost afraid to interrupt and it’s going to be over soon, anyway, with the way Roy is tightening his lips more, sucking harder.

Roy finally looks up and his gaze is burning. Jason can’t really see the green anymore, between the darkness of the room and the way his friend’s pupils have expanded. Carefully, as their eyes remain connected, Roy takes his hand from Jason’s thigh. He hears the sound of a zipper, tiny clicks sounding like timpani bursts in the tense air, then the sound of a slick hand jacking himself off.

Without the hand to hold him down, Jason clenches his thighs to control himself and the additional noise of Roy’s cock combined with the pressure he’s created between his own legs, Jason lets out a broken “Roy, I’m gonna—” then a gasp, and then he’s coming, hard and fast, spilling over Roy’s other hand as he jacks him through it, slightly uncoordinated because he’s still doing himself.

He keeps going until Jason lets himself fall back entirely onto the bed, his hands moving down to stop Roy because it’s too much, the extra sensation at the moment. Even as his hips still twitch, seeking contact for all that his cock can’t bear it, he’s hauling Roy up, fingernails biting at the skin of his friend’s freckled shoulders, pulling him onto the bed. Roy gets caught in his pants for a minute, frustrating them both before he shoves them and his shoes off his feet.

Jason briefly wonders if Roy usually goes out into the field without underwear or a cup. The Bats always use a cup, but maybe it’s the long-distance aspect at play again.

“Roy, Roy,” he pants and is met with a responding, “Jay,” as Roy gets closer, shoulders hunched as he straddles Jason’s thighs, his hand moving fast on his cock.

Jason sits up, bats his hand out of the way, delighting in the resulting whine of loss and protestation, taking his big hand and wrapping it around the slick member. Roy’s cock is leaking, pre-come sliding down the tip, wetting his way for him. He moves his hand fast, trying to get the pace and rhythm Roy was using on himself, but he still tries to catalogue the feel, the size, and shape. 

Roy isn’t the biggest Jason’s seen; he’s smaller in girth compared to Jason himself, though about as long. But his dick is _pretty_ ; cut, pale except where his head is red and flushed, completely smooth and hairless all around but for the slim copper trail from his navel. Jason pushes his thumb around the head on an upstroke and grins at the catch of Roy’s breath in his throat.

“God, I want to suck you, Roy. Get this pretty cock in my mouth. I know I can take it all, too. Have you coming down the back of my throat, my lips on your stomach…”

“Fuck! Jay! Jason!” Roy cries out and then he orgasms, come blending in with his previous wetness, drooling down his cock, down onto Jason’s hand, his hips thrusting hard enough that he rubs himself on Jason’s abs twice, getting them wet and sticky. Roy’s abs clench and tremble as he shakes through it, hands grabbing at Jason, his shoulders, his biceps, back up and in his hair.

Jason sinks back down towards the bed, more coordinated given his own orgasm was a few minutes ago, though his cock twitches at the sight, at the feel of Roy’s open mouth, the harsh breaths he drags through his nose, the way he clutches at Jason like he’s some kind of lifeline. He takes Roy with him, calming hand on his back as the other gently lets go of his cock. He gets them resting flat on the bed before he looks at his semen-covered hand. It’s already cooling, feeling thick and wet, but he’s wanted a taste of Roy for so long that he spreads his fingers anyway, and, staring at his hand while he does it, licks his palm and the come covering it.

“Jason,” Roy breathes, and he turns to find Roy staring at him through hooded eyes. He’s still shaking, minutely, as he reaches out and over, tilting Jason’s head towards him. They gaze at each other for what feels like hours, but it probably mere seconds, and Jason wonders at the heat mixed with gentleness in Roy’s eyes, the way he’s looking at him like Jason is something special, like this matters more than just an orgasm to him.

Jason closes his eyes, unable to handle it.

He feels soft lips against his own, Roy’s hand still on his face. “Pretty bird…” Roy mumbles against his lips and Jason’s eyes snap open. He lifts his eyebrows.

Roy’s face goes red, an honest-to-god blush spreading across his cheekbones and down his throat, visible in the moonlight.

“I’m not exactly _pretty_ , Harper.”

He’s not. Jason is hulking, scarred, rough. His eyes are probably the only thing nice about him, though he’ll admit, he’s gotten a lot of “pretty mouth” in his life. Before Bruce. After he died and before Talia brought him to Nanda Parbat. Even he knows that, objectively, his lips look made for sucking cock. He’s been told since he was nine, after all.

Roy snorts, rolling over on his back, one hand across his eyes, the other resting on his trim waist. “You are, actually. But it’s not that part you should be objecting to.”

Jason waits, but for once, Roy is close-lipped. Jason pokes his side, trying to get his friend to explain, but he just captures Jason’s finger and it turns into a wrestling match Jason decidedly wins when he gets Roy in a half-nelson, Roy’s face smashed into the bed that has become a mess of sheets and smells like sex.

Jason is the one that ends up conceding though, when Roy shoves his ass back into his cock and the traitor considers getting up again.

“Careful, Jaybird, or I _will_ think you’re easy,” Roy says, managing to look both coy and cheeky despite the awkward position he’s in, having to look under his own arm back at Jason on top of him.

Jason barks out a laugh and gets up, taking his body away from the heat it wants to wash himself of come, his own and Roy’s. When he returns from the bathroom next to the bedroom, he launches a washcloth at Roy and it lands on his chest with a wet squelch.

“Sexy,” mutters Roy. He wipes himself anyway before tossing the washcloth on the floor, wincing at the noise. “Come here,” he says, once he’s turned to look at Jason again.

He hesitates. Would it be better to crash on the couch? They don’t typically share beds, after all. If they’re in a hotel, it’s double beds; in a tent, it’s two sleeping bags. At the smaller safe houses, if they’re both there, one of them normally uses the futon or couch.

Roy dramatically rolls his eyes and pinches his nose. “Worse than—” Jason hears him mutter, but he never finishes the statement. Instead he extends his hand, patting the empty space next to him. “We’ve given each other orgasms. I think we can share a bed without it affecting our relationship, dude. I want to cuddle.”

Jason affects disinterest, both eyebrows raised this time, even as he’s climbing on the bed once he’s pulled a clean pair of boxer briefs on from the bag he’d tossed in the bedroom earlier. “What makes you think _I_ want to cuddle?”

Roy’s brows furrow as he watches Jason put the underwear on but smooth out when Jason stretches out next to him. “Don’t care if you or don’t. I’m a cuddler and you’re gonna fucking like it.”

True to his word, Roy wraps around him in a way Jason isn’t entirely unfamiliar with – Roy’s always been more touchy-feely than anyone Jason’s worked with – though the horizontal positioning and dark room is new. He presses himself into Jason’s side, one arm casually slung over him, his chest pressing against Jason’s arm. He’s still entirely naked. “Sleep, Jaybird. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Within minutes, Roy’s breathing evens out and he’s snoring quietly against Jason’s neck, hot breath from his open mouth tickling hairs at the base of his neck.

Roy is always there in the morning, but there’s something about the way he said it that leaves Jason’s head spinning worse than the alcohol and he forces himself asleep, using a technique Bruce taught him when he was fifteen and too high from patrol to sleep before school.

~~~

Jason wakes the next morning – later that day, technically – to the sound of Britney Spears and sunlight seemingly beaming directly into his closed eyes. 

“Hey, babe,” Roy answers the phone, rolling away from Jason’s body. 

It twists something dark and mean in Jason’s gut. He has the urge to curl up on himself, to place his hands on his stomach like a child with an ache, trying their best not to puke.

He fakes sleep instead.

He listens to the sound of Kori, just loud enough to know it’s her, but not enough to understand her words. He feels the bed move and thinks Roy is adjusting to a sitting position. He feels a hand in his hair and his heart skips a beat.

Bruce would scold him about the tell.

“How’s Dickie?” Roy asks. Quiet, then, “Oh, yeah? Why am I not surprised?”

The part of him that wants to slink away wars with the part of him that loves the ridiculous braying sound Roy pretends is laughter.

The hand pulls away as Roy shifts and gets up, still on the phone. He walks out of the bedroom and Jason can’t make anything out anymore but the sound of a low baritone, the clinking of glass, and slamming of various kitchen-related doors. Jason turns on his side, moving his leg up to cover his morning wood, to make it easier to pretend he’s still asleep.

The voice grows louder as Roy comes back. Jason can feel the heat radiating from his friend’s body as he sets down what must be a glass of water on the nightstand next to Jason’s head before he goes back around the bed and crawls in again. He doesn’t touch Jason this time. 

_He’s already pulling away._

Jason knew this was a bad idea. He isn’t sure if he’d rather never had the memory of Roy’s head between his legs, Roy’s face as he comes, or if it’s better to have and lose but always _know_.

“We’re fine. We…talked.” Roy listens for a moment and then a deep-throated laugh spills out of him. “He’s right here, if you want to check on him.” Roy nudges him with his foot. “You can stop pretending. Kori wants to know if I killed you with sex.”

Jason starts mentally. Then he realizes what Roy said after and tries to keep the smile off his face, instead opening one eye in what he hopes is a grouchy manner and mumbles, “I’ve already died and come back once. It’s gonna take a lot more than Roy’s dick to send me to the grave again.”

This time, because Roy’s hit the speaker button, he hears Kori’s musical laugh. It relaxes him, that stomach ache feeling going away almost as quick as it came. He turns his head and opens both eyes this time. He finds Roy smiling softly at him, phone sitting on his bony knee. There’s something in his eyes, maybe worry, but they’re intense for early morning and his look causes Jason to blink, to open his mouth and then shut it again, unsure of what he was going to say.

“JayJay, I miss you!” comes Kori’s sing-song voice. “I’ll be back soon—”

She cuts off for a moment and there’s a quiet, masculine growl and she giggles.

Roy and Jason share a look; Roy’s amused, Jason’s somewhat horrified that his and Dick’s growl don’t sound that different. Then, a second – female, _familiar_ – voice chimes in, “Dick Grayson, she is on the phone, let her be for one minute,” and both their jaws drop open in mutual shock at the image of Dick surrounded by not one but two redheaded women.

Jason snorts when he’s recovered from hearing Babs and jokes, knowing Dick will hear, “Bro, you’re missing one of your redheads.”

Roy moves quick, from sitting cross-legged halfway across the bed, to up on his knees hovering over Jason, his hands locked on Jason’s biceps. “I’m exactly where I want to be,” he says, green eyes burning like a magical flame. The intensity shocks Jason into silence.

That is, until, from somewhere lost in the sheets, they hear Kori squeal out a, “That’s so cuuuute!”

It breaks the moment and Roy grins, moving his hand on the bed until he finally finds the hard square of his phone and brings it up to his mouth. “Kori, we gotta go. See you next week, babe.”

It’s not only Kori who chimes in a goodbye, Dick and Babs do too – Dick even saying Jason’s _name_ like this is normal for them – everyone sounding a little amused and a little breathless before Roy clicks the end call button and tosses the phone to the floor.

They look at each other, Roy staring down at Jason, and after a moment both begin laughing; Roy’s laugh is high-pitched, almost giggles, and Jason’s comes from deep inside, his stomach hurting in an entirely different way, now.

“Can you imagine?” Roy almost wheezes between laughs.

“How is Dick not dead? I don’t think he’s enough to satisfy _both_ of them.”

“The hair alone!” Roy cries, letting his head fall onto Jason’s shoulder. “You Bat kids really have a thing for red.”

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Jason murmurs, letting his hand rise and stroke through Roy’s soft strands, gleaming copper in the sunlight that’s making its way through the north-facing window.

They both come down from the high of an awkward situation, Jason still petting Roy’s hair, watching it slip through his fingers over and over again. Roy tilts his head into it, but other than that, he doesn’t move. He’s still on his hands and knees over Jason’s body, the only contact Jason’s hand in his hair and the light touch of knees against his sides.

“I meant it,” Roy eventually mumbles. He’s not looking at Jason, focused somewhere on his shoulder instead.

Jason makes an inquisitive sound. His hand stills.

“I want to be here. This isn’t about anyone else.” Roy finally looks at him again. “You Bats hide a lot, but us Arrows are good on picking up a tell. You’ve gotta, to know when and where to shoot. Kori’s a friend – _our_ friend, partner – and yeah, she and I have had sex, but it’s not like that.”

He reaches out, sliding his left hand to meet Jason’s right, still splayed out on the bed. He wraps his long fingers around Jason’s, brings it up to their shoulders, then stretches their arms out so that he’s clasping it above their heads, fingers tangled. 

His eyes are currently burning holes into Jason and he can feel himself responding, even though there’s nothing particularly sexual happening in this moment. He whines, because he wants there to be, sex the easiest way he can cope with the intense emotions in his best friend’s eyes.

“Jesus, Jason. I want to kiss you so bad,” Roy says, bowing his head again, placing a kiss to Jason’s bare shoulder. Belatedly, Jason realizes Roy had been eyeing the nail marks he left last night. “But I don’t want to scare you away with morning breath this early in our relationship.”

Roy keeps his lips barely above his skin but tilts his eyes up again, a shit-eating grin spreading wide across his face. Jason spares a moment’s consideration while he laughs and then moves his hand from Roy’s cropped hair to smack his ass.

“Go brush your teeth, then,” he says, smirking.

Roy’s body startles in response to the hit and then he winks at Jason and leaps up off the bed with entirely too much energy. Jason props himself up on his elbows, watching Roy’s backside as he saunters into the bathroom grabbing what looks like _Jason’s_ toothbrush and the toothpaste.

“You don’t want to share morning breath, but you’re fine using my toothbrush?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

“I said I didn’t want to scare _you_ , not that _I_ cared,” Roy responds, but given he’s got paste and spit and a brush in his mouth it comes out more like, “Ah swad ah din one scar oo, no at ah cowed,” but Jason gets the general gist.

He snorts and tosses his head back, letting the sun caress his skin. It feels like it’s going to be a rare sunny day in Gotham and, having shut down the Colombians and Kori still on her vacay in Blüdhaven, they don’t have to be anywhere.

He pulls a second phone out of the nightstand, deliberately trying not to stare at the condoms and lube he keeps in there alongside a pack of cigarettes, and pulls up Grubhub, orders them both breakfast in and tosses it back in the drawer. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and he stretches, moving muscles that have gone stiff during sleep, cracking his neck.

When he stands up and turns to walk into the bathroom, he sees Roy’s heated stare. Maybe he lets his stance widen, struts more than necessary on his way. When he gets to the bathroom, he hip checks Roy and pointedly takes his toothbrush, loading it up with minty toothpaste.

Ultimately, they spend about another ten minutes in the bathroom, relieving themselves, combing fingers through hair, shaving, even, on Jason’s part. It’s absurd because they’re both obviously trying hard for the other, but they’re used to getting ready in a shared space anyway, so it’s almost routine. It’s also funny because Jason’s seen Roy throwing up due to food poisoning and Roy’s seen him puking up blood after a bullet went straight through his lung. They’ve seen each other at their worst and here they are, acting like they’re getting ready for a date, like either of them actually care.

Eventually there’s a knock at the door and Jason throws on a new clean shirt to open the door. A beleaguered employee stands there, holding a giant bag of takeout boxes. Jason tips him a twenty; the kid looks slightly less cranky.

Roy’s started the coffee pot brewing, fumbling around behind the liquor bottles they left last night, before Jason grabs his bicep and forces him to sit down. They split a triple cheese omelet, French toast, waffles, and bacon. In between crude slurps of black coffee and chewing sounds, their feet tangle together under the table. It could be almost any morning, except for the soft smiles Roy is giving him that Jason can’t help but answer with an awkward scratch to the back of his neck. He hasn’t felt this shy, this strange, this fluttering in his stomach since he was sixteen.

They bicker over the last piece of bacon before Jason simply steals it. Roy gives him a wounded look that is one hundred percent faking.

Unable to handle the tension anymore, his dick has been at half-mast since Roy climbed above him on the bed, he tilts his head and says, “Ven aquí, bebé.”

Almost as fast as a speedster, Roy is in his lap, thighs clamped around his, chests pressing together. Roy never put on a shirt – though he did at least put on a pair of gold basketball shorts before sitting down to eat – so there’s nothing more than one layer of fabric between them and Jason can feel his heart pounding. Jason’s eyes flicker from Roy’s to his lips and then back up again before sliding shut as he leans the last inch forward.

This time there’s no battle for control, no harshness; hell, it’s practically romantic. Jason’s lips are bigger, swallowing Roy’s, but his friend has a wicked tongue that chases Jason’s back into his mouth, finding its way over teeth and tongue and soft palate, learning, caressing. He tastes like coffee and syrup, feels wet and hot.

Soon enough he’s grinding down into Jason’s lap and he can feel Roy’s erection pressing against his abs, moves his hand down to feel both it and the serious cut of Roy’s stomach muscles, pressing his knuckles into Roy as his fingers caress his growing length in the shorts.

Roy shifts, stretching tall so that he’s a head above Jason. His knees touch the chair back and his thighs tense against Jason’s until Roy gets his hands behind him. It gives him better access to Roy’s cock and he takes full advantage, pulling it out of his shorts, taking it in now in the light. It’s damp and drooling with pre-come – Jason gives it one pump, two. He can make out the shade of red that his cockhead is better now; a deep pink, almost rose. The muscles in his thighs bulge as he balances.

His cock has the slightest curve to it, up towards Roy’s belly and Jason wonders if it’ll hit that spot inside him that’s been so elusive with previous partners. Jason’s always been down to fuck and get fucked, but he’s only ever come from jacking off; he wants the stars and explosions and to know what it feels like when someone’s fingers – long, graceful ones like Roy’s – or dick can reach the spot that’s just barely out of reach from his own wide hands and the bulk of his body that make it hard to reach when he gets himself off.

His eyes hungrily take in the pale stretch of throat Roy shows off for him, like he hasn’t eaten at all and Roy is a buffet. He leans forward, using one arm to keep the other man from sliding off his lap while the other still jacks him, twists around the head, and bites at the freckles he can make out, licking a pattern between them. Roy swallows and he feels his Adam’s apple bob beneath his lips. Jason bites, a little vicious, then leans back to watch the color bloom bright on Roy’s throat, in a place where he can’t hide unless he wants to wear a turtleneck in Gotham’s high nineties heat.

His hips continue to move, matching Roy’s, like they’re dancing to the same beat Roy began last night. His hand drops from Roy’s cock, instead just gripping his hips tight, making sure to rub his cock right up and between Roy’s cheeks, nothing more than thin material protecting his ass.

“Christ, your _thighs_ , Jay. Can’t believe I can sit in your lap like this,” Roy pants.

Jason, though, is mostly enthralled with Roy’s bulging forearms, holding onto him by said thighs, fingers clenching on his knees, and the flex of his abdominals as he uses them to grind himself down and against Jason’s dick. They’re mesmerizing to watch, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“I want you to strip, bend me over this table but fuck, I’m already _so close_ ,” Roy pants, his words setting Jason off. His own movements become faster; less circular, deliberate grinding and more rutting against Roy’s tight ass, amazed that simple frottage with clothes still on like they’re teenagers is anything that turns his friend on enough to be close to coming.

He hears a deep rumble and when Roy shakes, shoots one hand out to clutch at the nape of his neck, thumb pressing against his windpipe – not trying to choke him but _feeling_ – Jason discovers the noise is emanating from him. It reminds him of earlier, realizing his and Dick’s growls are the same and it send an additional, confusing spike of arousal through him. He gasps.

“Jesus, are you close? Please tell me I’m not the only one feeling this, the only one about to come in his pants.” Roy’s eyes are burning bits of jade, staring right at him, and his breath is hitched, struggling to come out of his nose because he’s biting his lip so hard, he might just bite through it.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” he finds himself agreeing, the tension building up in his spine, pooling in his groin taking him by surprise. He boils hotter the more Roy talks and Roy never stops talking.

“I want to fuck your thighs so bad, Jay. I just know you’ll grip me tight, it’s gonna feel so good. God, promise me you’ll let me do that. Been jacking off to that thought for longer than I should have been. Mmmm, I’m so close, god, Jay, please—"

Roy’s cheeks are bright red, his hair is darkened with sweat and stuck to his forehead, curling just a tiny bit behind his ears. He looks like sin, like joy, like his best friend, and _he_ put that color there, _he_ made the red strands damp—

“Can you come without a hand?” he asks, even as he’s shifting in the chair, sliding down a little more, widening his legs only enough to make a bigger base for Roy’s grinding as he gets one hand on Roy’s back, sliding it down the back of his shorts, collecting sweat along the way so that his finger won’t be totally dry.

His response is a whine and he takes pity on the other man. His finger finds the pucker hidden between ass cheeks and he presses at the same time he uses his thumb to rub the glans right under Roy’s fat cockhead.

For an instant, Roy’s grip on his neck and throat tightens as he seeks to maintain his balance, the other gripping the wood table next to them so hard his knuckles are white. He tosses his head back, eyes breaking away from Jason’s and he watches, tries to take it all in from head to dick as Roy comes, tendons in his throat tightening, chest widening as he tries to breath and fails, his abs flexing and fluttering as thick, white come pours over Jason’s hand, flies up to catch on his lower abdomen, drips down to the waistband of his shorts, into the fine red hair at the base of his dick.

Jason holds him through it, moving his thumb just enough to keep the come flowing, to try to milk him dry. It’s sticky and wet, giving a scent of sex to the air around them. Eventually, his hand is too full of it to keep holding the other man’s dick; Roy is starting to flinch anyway. He grimaces a bit as he wipes it on the napkins that came with their breakfast.

He hasn’t gotten it all off though, when Roy grabs his hand and begins sucking the space between thumb and pointer finger, rolling the skin between his teeth. Roy eating his own come off Jason sends sparks down his spine. He scoots back in Jason’s lap just enough to give his other hand enough space between their bodies so that he can grind the heel of his palm down on Jason’s hard bulge, still captured in his boxer briefs.

“Next time,” he says, huskily, voice like melted chocolate, “I’m getting that shirt off you. I’m gonna suck your nipples until you’re begging me for mercy.”

Jason’s nipples have never really been particularly sensitive, but Roy’s words send him flashing back to when he was sixteen and considering getting them pierced so that maybe they would be, and they bud up tight, pointing through his tee like a girl stuck outside in a snowstorm and a tank top.

“Yeah, that’s good, Jay,” Roy continues, and his fingers – those beautiful, dexterous fingers – are kneading and cupping his dick too and Roy telling him he’s good, well, it sends Jason off into his own orgasm.

He grunts, and it takes him over, hand flexing on Roy’s ass, feeling his hole flutter around his finger as it slips in an inch in his uncoordinated pleasure.

“ _Shit_ ,” hisses Roy, but it doesn’t sound pained at least and he jolts in Jason’s lap, gripping him harder in return and the slight pain is a perfect ending, leaves him thrusting into nothing but his own wet come in his underwear when Roy ends up clutching his bicep instead.

They both shake and shudder and pant as they come down, Roy letting his head drop against Jason’s shoulder and just loll there. Jason moves the hand that had been in the back of his shorts to the small of his back, rubbing gently, hoping it’s not too sentimental, that the touch doesn’t give too much away. He’s still unsure, but there’s a hole in him somewhere that isn’t quite so empty anymore and he’s afraid to call it hope, but there it is.

Jason’s never been as good at lying to himself as the other Bats are. He’s just good at faking it.

Eventually he shifts, and his grimace is wider this time as his dick slides through its own mess. “Get off me,” he says.

Roy lifts his head and rolls his eyes, clutches his heart dramatically. “The romance is gone,” he exclaims, but he moves off Jason’s lap, slowly, like his knees are protesting the position after so long. He’s a little bowlegged after standing and Jason covers a smile with his hand, knowing that _he_ did that, wanting to do it with his cock next time. 

If there’s a next time.

He stands, shudders. “Shower,” he mumbles, pulling away, setting his shoulders back.

“Jaybird,” Roy stops him. “Hey, you’re not regretting this? You seemed into it a minute ago but…”

Jason stops, barely turns his head over his shoulder, taking a side glance at the redhead whose hair is still damp, still messy from his hands. His gold shorts are half hanging off his ass and Jason tries not to remember his burning heat.

He shrugs. “I don’t regret things, Roy. Life’s too short.” He continues to walk in the direction of the bathroom, barely glancing at the rumpled sheets they slept in together, visible through the bedroom door he walks past, gut clenching when he remembers the soft way Roy called Kori ‘babe.’

He’s finally stopped by a hand smacking his arm and forcing him to turn. “Dammit, Jay, talk to me,” Roy growls. “Did I do something you didn’t want? Did I read this all wrong?”

Jason stares at him, feeling a little desperate.

Comprehension dawns on Roy’s features, his pointy nose scrunching up and then relaxing. “You’re afraid _you_ read it wrong. Jesus fuck, what is wrong with you, Jay? Have the Bats really fucked you up that much, that I explicitly say what I feel, and you don’t believe me? Shit, I thought Ollie and I were messed up, but…I’m gonna punch Dick. Hell, I’m gonna fucking punch _Bruce_.”

“You’ll hurt your hand,” Jason says flippant, trying to get past Roy’s broad shoulders so he can get the hell out of his wet briefs.

“He’s not a super,” Roy responds, dismissively. He shifts, spreading his thighs and crossing his arms, blocking more of Jason’s path. He lets out a breath of frustration. “Jason Todd, listen to me. I wouldn’t fuck up our friendship, our _partnership_ with sex. If that’s all I wanted, well, I would go elsewhere. You’re hot but I _can_ control myself. 

“You are a stoic asshole with the tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. I like that. You listen to my mouth that can’t stop, and you don’t care; you don’t get bored or annoyed, and sometimes, you even like my plans. That’s a first for me. You don’t lecture me about anger management.

“So, I’m going to say this once. Turn off that giant brain, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and listen to me when I say _I like you_.”

He finishes with a glare, daring Jason to say something to the contrary and at first, Jason is taken back and then, after staring back as intently, waiting for a crack, he finds himself amused.

He hangs his head and steps into Roy’s body which opens for him, pulling him into some kind of half hug, crushing him even as it feels real damn good. He lets his head thunk onto Roy’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, bud, I get it.”

“Do you?” Roy asks, tilting his head up with a hand, demanding Jason’s presence, his actual understanding.

Jason shivers, though whether it’s from the gentle caress of Roy’s thumb or his bright eyes, he doesn’t know. He leans forward, stretching his neck so that he can kiss the other man. It’s gentle, almost sweet. The kind of kiss someone gives their boyfriend.

“Mmm, you do,” Roy sighs into the kiss, flicking his tongue teasingly, soft against Jason’s lips. Then he pulls back. “Now go shower. That cannot be comfortable,” he grins, pointedly staring at the wet spot in Jason’s underwear.

Jason can’t describe the noise he lets out at that, but it’s definitely part frustration, part astonishment, and something playful that surprises even him as he shoves Roy back until they’re stumbling into the shower, still clothed, and Jason turns the water on full blast, both swearing when it comes out cold.

“You fucking ass,” laughs Roy, but his grin is easy and bright and Jason smiles right back.

“Te gusto de todos modos.”

“I do, babe, I do.”

There’s that strange feeling again, the one that seems like hope. This time Jason lets himself feel it as Roy moves in to kiss him under the shower.

**Author's Note:**

>  _¿Por qué estás haciendo esto?:_ Why are you doing this?  
>  _“¿Harías lo mismo sí serías sobrio?”_ You’d never do this otherwise.  
>  _Tú eres mi mejor amigo:_ You’re my best friend.  
>  _Nuca:_ Never  
>  _Mierda:_ fuck  
>  _Ven aquí, bebé:_ Come here, baby  
>  _Te gusto de todos modos:_ You like me, anyway.
> 
> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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